Barhopping
by NothingButTrouble
Summary: Matthew never thought that one late-night visit to Chuck's Dairy Bar and Restaurant would land him with a social life.


This is an entry for round two of the Hetalia Fanfiction Contest, season one. The characters it needed to involve were Canada, Prussia, and Cuba. In case you can't tell, Cuba is Carlos. It's one of Himaruya's possible names for him, and Carlos Machado had this ring to it, I just— alright. Anyways.

I own neither Hetalia nor any major or minor ice cream franchises.

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><p>One Friday night found Matthew Williams entering a dairy bar at 7:30 pm, looking frazzled and smelling decidedly like syrup. He didn't mind the smell, not too much— he was familiar with the occupational hazards of working at IHOP. Work had been unusually stressful that day, though. Serving a party of forty, while not unheard of, was exhausting. And sure, he adored pancakes and syrup as much as the next guy, if not even more, but they were going to have to take a break from each other. He'd have to see something— <em>anything<em>— else for a bit, otherwise he would get tired of the most delicious breakfast food combination in the world, and that just wouldn't do.

With that in mind, he had set off for Chuck's Dairy Bar and Restaurant. The Restaurant part didn't apply on Fridays after seven at night, but he was fine with that. He wasn't going for the choice selection of (grilled) meats and (usually not grilled) soups. His target was the ice cream. In his opinion, ice cream was pretty much the exact opposite of pancakes. Even if his assessment was wrong, he didn't mind too much. He'd been craving some ice cream anyway.

The thick wooden door opened at his touch, deceptively light. Somewhere above him, a bell tinkled, attracting the attention of the few patrons in the establishment. Most looked away after a brief glance, but one familiar face stayed turned in his direction.

Matthew plodded toward the register, taking note of where his acquaintance, Carlos Machado, sat. He gave him a tired smile, which Carlos returned in full force. The brightness of the smile was accentuated by his colorful Hawaiian shirt. As far as Matthew could tell, Carlos had never been to Hawaii, but that didn't stop him from constantly wearing vibrantly colored clothing decorated with floral patterns.

Brightly colored flowery shirts suited him, Matthew thought absently as he perused the display board of ice cream flavors. There were a great many, and Matthew was not one to be bothered with comparing and contrasting them to find the perfect combination. That was his brother's job. After a few seconds of deliberation, he ordered two scoops of strawberry. Chuck, the owner and apparently the sole employee, immediately darted off to prepare his frozen treat. He was back before thirty seconds had passed.

Matthew smiled. Chuck was a very eager, energetic person. He forked over the necessary payment, added several dollars to the tip jar ("For excellent service," he informed a beaming Chuck), and took a seat next to Carlos.

"Two scoops?" asked Carlos, grinning widely. "You're sure splurging tonight, Matt."

"Practically just blew my paycheck right there," Matthew replied with a quiet smile. It was true. His wallet was nearly empty. "I'm going to live on cold cereal and frosting out of the can for the next couple weeks, so I hope this ice cream is fantastic."

"Don't worry, it is," Carlos assured him. "And if you ever run low on cash, syrup's good for energy. It'll keep you hyped until the next payday. Speaking from experience here."

Matthew switched his uneaten ice cream cone from his left hand to his right. "I hope it won't go that far," he replied. "Me and syrup— and pancakes, for that matter— are kind of having a disagreement right now."

"The perils of working at IHOP," Carlos said, only half joking. Matthew made a soft noise of assent. His ice cream cone drooped a little to the left. The clock struck eight o'clock, and several patrons got up and filed out through the large, deceptively light doors.

Silence prevailed. Matthew busied himself with eating his melting ice cream once it became clear that, for all intents and purposes, their conversation was over. The awkwardness was increasing exponentially, he thought. Perhaps by a factor of four.

Just as he opened his mouth to revive their conversation, the door slammed open. In marched a man with a shock of light hair (was it bleached? Was he an albino?) who was wearing gym clothes and an oversized backpack. A quick glance at his face revealed red eyes, narrowed in a scowl. Without taking into consideration his _unique_ characteristics, he would have looked like any old college student (maybe) if it hadn't been for the scabbard in the knapsack's water bottle pouch _that very obviously contained a sword._

Matthew turned around in his seat to get a better look. It had to be a fake, he reasoned. Why would some guy just go around bringing swords into ice cream shops?

The guy with the sword frowned at the flavor display board. "Hey, you," he began brusquely, turning to face Matthew. "Where's the alcohol selection?"

All of Matthew's reassurances about the sword's (lack of) legitimacy fled his mind. The guy with the sword was talking to him? Since when? He paled. "What?" he whispered. His eyes took that moment to helpfully note that he, this strange man, and Carlos were the only patrons remaining in the restaurant.

The man hitched his backpack up on his shoulders and fixed Matthew with a _look_. "The _alcohol_," he repeated. "Where's the _alcohol_? The sign outside says it's a bar, right? What good is a bar without beer?"

"Oh, uh," Matthew responded eloquently. "This is, um, a dairy bar, and they don't, uh, they don't serve alcohol here. They do have ice cream, though!" he added after seeing the albino's less than impressed face.

"But how can I drown my sorrows in ice cream?" he asked plaintively. Carlos and Matthew shared a look, unsure of whether he was asking himself or them. Oblivious to their silent interaction, the scowling man glanced up at the possible flavors for a moment before making eye contact with Chuck. He leaned forward and ordered_ something. _Matthew didn't hear what he said over the sound of his own heartbeat _thud thudding _in his ears.

A minute later, the man with the sword ambled over to their table, a cup of ice cream in hand. His ice cream cup was immediately dropped onto the table, though he still held onto the spoon. Then, he deposited his backpack carefully on the floor before taking up residence in a chair. He visibly relaxed as soon as he sat down, slouching forward a bit with a hint of a smile on his face.

Meanwhile, Matthew did his best not to think about the contents of the bag, especially the sword. Who knew what a conversation about swords would lead them to? He didn't want to find out.

"What's with the sword?" asked Carlos, possessing no such qualms. "Is it real?"

The albino made a face. "Why," he lamented to no one in particular, "does everybody ask that? And then, and _then_," he went on, gesturing with his spoon, "once I tell them that yes, it's totally real, they're all, _Gilbert, please put the sword down,_ or _Gilbert, quit it with the sword stuff, you jackass," _he mimicked, throwing his voice up a few octaves. "Or _sir, you currently pose a danger to the immediate public, so if you would_—_"_

"Why would you just tote a sword around?" Carlos interrupted. "I mean, isn't it kind of heavy?"

"Pah," Gilbert scoffed. "I'm a historical re-enactor. Swords aren't a big deal. Not with _these_ muscles," he added, flexing the arm not holding his ice cream cone and aiming a cheeky wink at Matthew. He went on to say, "So yeah. Hauling around a sword? Easy as pie. Carrying around a _cannon_, though…" he trailed off. After a moment passed with no response, he scowled. "That was a joke, you know." Matthew gave a weak smile, which Gilbert did not notice.

A minute or two of silence ticked by. Determined to break the silence (for once), Matthew asked, "Why did you stroll into a dairy bar at eight o'clock on a Friday night anyway?"

"Thought it was a bar bar, as you know," Gilbert said. "Also, work sucked today. Some kid tried to run me through with a bayonet. He missed everything important," he added. "And the bayonet wasn't like pointy or anything. Still hurt like a bitch, though."

"At least you have ice cream," Carlos replied.

"Yeah. And this place totally has the best flavor ever," he proclaimed. "It's Peppermint Stick. I bet you losers haven't tried it, seeing as you're eating vanilla and— ew, is that strawberry?"

Matthew ducked his head and murmured, "I like strawberry."

"Bro," Gilbert began. "Bro, listen to me. Next time you go out for ice cream, get Peppermint Stick. I'm doing you a solid, right here."

Matthew smiled a small, private smile and took a bite of his strawberry ice cream.

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><p>Somehow, the conversation jumped from talk about ice cream to jobs, as it seemed all conversations did those days. Gilbert regaled them both with tales of "military might" (mostly his own) in his battle re-enactions. Carlos complained about the people in his yoga class, mentioning Matthew's brother multiple times. Matthew just raised his eyebrows and listened. Apparently, this yoga class which Al was in was the reason Carlos hadn't mistaken Matthew for his brother recently. He made a mental note to both thank and make fun of his brother.<p>

Eventually, Matthew joined the conversation with several IHOP "horror stories." They weren't frightening at all, but they were good for a laugh.

Their three-man party at the table near the door was cut short by Chuck.

"Sorry, dudes," he said with an apologetic half-smile. "Gonna have to ask you to leave. It's nine-thirty, and the folks'll want me to close up shop."

With minimal groaning and complaining, they picked up their mess and left. Matthew inwardly marveled at how late it was. Had they seriously not noticed an hour and a half go by?

If he was thinking along the same lines, Gilbert didn't show it. Laughing a strange little laugh, he declared, "The night's still young, my brothers. Shall we go and seek out another dairy bar to continue our camaraderie?"

Feeling a little silly, Matthew murmured, "Aye-aye, captain."

"Then off we shall go!" Gilbert exclaimed. It was a shame that the sword and scabbard were practically forgotten in his backpack, Matthew mused. Gilbert would totally look the part of fearless leader if he held some sort of sharp weapon. "There's a Friendly's down here somewhere," Gilbert declared, oblivious to Matthew's thought process. "I can feel it in my bones." He marched forward, his gym shorts fluttering comically in the breeze.

An hour later, they were giggling like schoolgirls as they jogged down the road, all inhibitions lost. The Friendly's that Gilbert had mentioned was closed, and so was the next, but this was an _adventure,_ there _had_ to be one open _somewhere._ It was a big city, after all.

But as more and more time slipped away, they became even less likely to find something worthy to eat ice cream in. They entered a Dairy Queen and then a Ben & Jerry's, leaving each because of the "lack of atmosphere" and also because of the small children about.

As ten thirty ticked by with no further progress in their search, they agreed to call it quits. "Just for the night!" Gilbert insisted. "We should totally get together and do something awesome like this again."

"How does tomorrow sound?" Carlos asked.

* * *

><p>After the details were worked out and cell phone numbers were exchanged, Matthew returned home. As soon he entered the apartment, Al poked his head out from the kitchen doorway. Matthew knew what he was wearing without having to look. It was Friday, after all. Fridays were rocketship pajama days.<p>

"Hey, Mattie!" he exclaimed, holding onto the doorframe for support. "I totally just got this awesome new video game, you would definitely like it, bro. How's about tomorrow night? You, me, and a couple dozen pancakes? Sound rad to you?"

"No can do, Al," Matthew replied, trudging down the hallway. When he reached his bedroom door, he retreated a step or two before taking a flying leap. He bounced up once or twice once he landed on the bed, but that happened every time anyways. "I've got a night out with the guys," he continued. "Barhopping. No big deal." Plus he didn't want to deal with pancakes unless he absolutely had to.

Alfred made a face at him. "Barhopping? Well, aren't you mister social life," he grumbled. "Blowing off your own brother to go chill with the guys, I see how it is."

"Love you too, yoga boy," Matthew called from the safety of his bedroom.

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><p>The next night, he met up with Carlos and Gilbert at six o'clock. For lack of a better word, it was awesome.<p> 


End file.
